


No Cinderella Story

by GlitterAndDoom



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Community: sohotoutthebed, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterAndDoom/pseuds/GlitterAndDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of rhinestone-studded velvet pumps, a huge and pretty TV star, and a brilliant June full moon are not enough to transform him from Adam Lambert to Cinderella. Midnight has passed, and still, there are no pumpkins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Cinderella Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wynkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynkat/gifts).



> Written for the [So Hot Out the Bed Valentine's Day Porn Exchange](http://sohotoutthebed.dreamwidth.org). _HUGE_ thank you to my prereader, @TeryTrixie; to my betas, inoru_no_hoshi and aislinn; and to my recipient, Wynkat, for such an awesome prompt: _Adam, a pair of sparkly high heels and a taller/larger partner_

One quick guest part on a dull but popular medical drama, and Adam had lost the best boots he'd brought on tour. A fucking shame, but at least he got to keep their replacement.

"Nice shoes," Dominic said, lips quirked as he eyed the stilettos on Adam's feet. "Something happen on set?"

"Mm." Adam nodded, and held out a leg for him to get a closer look. "Close encounter with fake blood." They _were_ nice shoes, though, tall and definitely not cheap, even though they were meant to play a role. Sleek black velvet pumps, their tall heels and platform bases studded with clear white rhinestones. "Mine were, er..." He made a disgusted face. " _Yeah_." If anyone would understand, it was one of the show's stars, and, sure enough, Dominic nodded. Adam took another drink. His martini kinda sucked, but so had pretty much everything else about the wretched day. He _desperately_ wanted back on the bus.

"Kinda a bad idea." No, he'd never guest star on a doctor show set in the middle of fucking nowhere again, he swore to himself, and sipped his drink again. Then, he noticed a tiny red splotch on Dominic's sharp collarbone, and he chuckled. "Bet it happens to you all the time," he said, and grabbed a napkin and held it out. "On your neck."

Dominic laughed. "Thanks," he said, as he wiped the stain away, and he sat on the stool beside him. The bartender slid over a watery pink cocktail that made Adam raise his eyebrows curiously, but the other man didn't notice "Maybe you _should_ have played the drag queen. That dress would've looked good on you."

Then, Dominic had taken a sip and wrinkled his nose, and any faint hope of getting a better drink was dashed. "Ugh," Dominic grumbled, but still took another drink. "Can't even get a decent drunk on out here." He shook off his irritation, and gave Adam a brilliant smile as he extended a hand. "Hi, I'm Nic, still," he said, and, to Adam's surprise, he kissed Adam's hand instead of shaking it. "And you're Adam Lambert. To borrow a cliché, what's a pretty guy like you doing in a shithole like this?"

"Oh, you know..." Adam smirked, and decided to play along. "Looking for a good time. Think you can help me out?"

Nic laughed. "You're not gonna find it here—that I can tell you...unless..." He stepped down from his stool and downed his drink in a few quick swallows, then nodded toward the back door. "You wanna follow me?"

Adam did.

*

Now lips slide against lips, tasting of salt and liquor and skin. Adam pours himself into it, kissing hot and deep and rough, devouring breath and heat and lust as he is consumed, as nerves and body thrum with the pounding beat of his pulse and the music inside the bar. "So good," he whispers against Nic's gaping mouth, and plunges in again, hand pressed to Nic's broad throat, guiding him deep as they can go, world all teeth and tongues and lips and stolen air.

They hit the wall, and Nic grinds against his hips, cock hard within his jeans. Adam feels _everything_ through the fabric of his suit, shudders at the slow friction against him and pushes back, thrusts, seeks more, harder, now. He _needs_ , needs and wants and _feels_ , mind lost to silent pleas for yes, more, faster, yes, god, _fuck, yes_.

Nic pulls back, catching his breath, and Adam wonders if he looks as wrecked as him, lips red and swollen, pupils blown so wide light eyes look black, skin shimmering with sweat and shared glitter, so far gone neither can tell that Nic's taller, that Adam shouldn't tower over him. "God," Nic rasps, wild gaze studying, consuming, enjoying everything he sees, "You're so fucking beautiful."

Adam can't help the flush that creeps across his cheeks, and hopes it's lost to the darkness. "Thank you," he breathes. He could hear that a billion times from a billion different men with that look in their eyes, and it would still hit like this, he thinks, warm and perfect and still unbelievable. So he kisses Nic again, slow and tender, caressing his jaw with his thumb, another silent thank you.

But they don't have time for slow and tender. Adam's phone buzzes against his hip, and he knows who texted without looking. He has places to be, a tour to return to once he leaves this alley, once he leaves the set, no matter how much he wants to stay and study and taste and give. He ignores his assistant's text and settles for cupping Nic's face in his hands and asking, "What do you want, baby?" ready to give.

"To see you," Nic says, untangling his fingers from Adam's hair. He slides them down Adam's chest, and unbuttons Adam's black shirt with shaking hands. Then he slips them beneath the fine fabric, making Adam shiver as his palms roam over his chest. A rough finger grazes a nipple, and the catch in his breath becomes a groan as Nic rolls it between his fingers. "To touch you."

"Oh, God." His nipples are his weakness, and he arches into the touch, begging for more with broken noises. Nic squeezes them gently, and it goes straight to Adam's tightening belly, straight to his desperate cock, but it's not enough.

Nic seems to know, and he sinks down and bites him through his shirt, a bright and gorgeous burst of pain that wrings a moan from Adam's heaving chest. He sucks through the fabric, all wet heat and suction and the rasping smooth cloth on sensitized skin, hands sliding down and down and down, leaving opened buttons and bare flesh in their wake. Adam's breath comes in gasps and pleading noises, stuttering as a hand roams across his ticklish stomach, down his back. Nic's mouth pulls away, and the loss is painful until he cups Adam's ass, and the words, "To fuck you," rumble against his damp skin, deep with promise. "See how amazing your ass looks with those shoes."

But that's not what _he_ wants. Adam chuckles, and grabs Nic's wrists and pins them to the wall. Nic's head jerks up, eyes wide in surprise, and Adam smirks. Nic's hot and sweet and gorgeous, his lips wicked and wonderful, his bulging cock a hard promise, but..."I don't let just anyone do that," Adam replies, and pulls a hand away to stroke Nic's cheek. Nic's mouth falls open, and Adam traces the fullness of his lips with his thumb.

"I thought we..." Nic shakes his head. "You're full of surprises."

He laughs again, soft and dark. "I know, right?" He's built a career on twists and surprises, built a life by going against the conventional. A pair of rhinestone-studded velvet pumps, a huge and pretty TV star, and a brilliant June full moon are not enough to transform him from Adam Lambert to Cinderella. Midnight has passed, and still, there are no pumpkins. "You were expecting anything else from me?"

"Adam..." Nic begins, struggling to stand on shaking legs, and he can hear the hesitation in his voice. "I..."

"Shh." Adam lets go of his other wrist, and slips his hand between them to unzip Nic's jeans. "You'll like it; I promise," he says, voice soothing, and Nic relaxes, leans back against the wall and nods. Nic's bare underneath, and Adam is grateful. "Oh, what's this?" he asks, with a knowing smirk, and he frees the thick length and sinks to his knees. "Were you hoping for something?"

Nic shrugs, and laughs quietly. "Kinda."

"Perfect." The tip of Nic's cock glistens in the dim light, damp and flushed and eager. Adam wants it, wants to taste, wants to bring Nic to his knees. He inhales the heady scent of sweat and sex, savoring, and he leans in, and takes Nic into his mouth.

Nic swears, and with a smirk, Adam tongues his slit, dragging another swear from Nic's throat. Nic's cock is heavy in his mouth, smooth and slick. Adam traces the head with his tongue, licks slow and wet and long, savoring the feel, the smell, the bitter salt taste. The power. He sucks, and Nic bucks against him, and twists a hand in his hair, urging him on.

His cell buzzes again. Adam closes his eyes, pushing away the frustration, then peers up at Nic and swallows him whole.

" _Adam_ ," Nic says his name like a curse as Adam works his throat around his cock, babbles it like a prayer, makes tiny, pleading sounds as Adam slides back and _sucks_ , earning obscene little noises that twist deep in Adam's belly and make him suck harder, lick slower, taste and swallow and suck and consume. He doesn't have the time to make it great, but he can make it _good_ , and he does, makes it so fucking good that Nic almost _sobs_ when Adam lets go, pulling away with a wet, filthy pop. "God, Adam, _please_."

"Turn around," Adam says, wiping his mouth, and Nic does, stumbling in his haste. Adam catches his breath and pushes himself to his feet, and before he's balanced on his perilously tall heels, Nic's pants hit the ground with a soft thud. Adam chuckles, shaking his head, and traces a hand over Nic's taut, pale ass. "Someone's excited," he teases, and unzips too-tight trousers that had been comfortable that afternoon.

Nic's not the only one excited. Adam fumbles to free his wallet from his falling pants, and his fingers almost fail to cooperate in his hurry to open it. He finds the condom he keeps stashed away easily, and sends a silent thank you to the Universe that he remembered to replace it, but the lube proves more elusive. "Shit, do you have anything—" he says, just as his fingers catch the nearly empty tube hiding in plain sight. "Fuck, finally," he says, and drops the wallet on the ground, then hands Nic the lube and condom with an abrupt, "Hold this for a sec, babe."

As he reaches toward his underwear, he hears the unmistakable sound of an opening door. He freezes. Listens. Someone steps outside, and the door slams closed behind them. He can't breathe, frozen by the sound of crunching gravel. Footsteps. Then, the other person sighs and lights a cigarette, and Adam lets out a breath and turns back to Nic. "We have to be quiet," he says.

"Yeah. Fuck."

"Think you can do that?" Nic nods, but it's himself that Adam's worried about. Keeping quiet is a skill he never has quite mastered, and the pool of heat within has turned to lead. He probably shouldn't do this, not now, not _here_. He doesn't want his ass plastered on the covers of every fucking rag, doesn't want the scandal. He's not ashamed, has nothing to hide, but...

"Jesus," Nic hisses, "are you gonna fuck me or not?"

But Nic is famous, too, has just as much to lose, and Adam's cock is aching; he's so fucking hard it hurts to breathe. He tugs his underwear down slowly, quietly, then takes the lube from Nic's insistent hands, making Nic keep the condom, for now. "Do not make a sound," he whispers against Nic's ear, and Nic nods. "Perfect." Adam kisses his cheek, then uncaps the lube and squeezes it onto his fingers.

Adam slides in slowly, but still, Nic gasps in surprise and clenches around him. "Shh," Adam says, even as he stops. "Breathe. Relax."

"Yeah," Nic says, shifting, spreading his legs as far as they can go. "It's been a while. Keep going."

Nic breathes deep, releases the tension, and Adam pushes in deeper, hoping not to hurt. But Nic opens beautifully after that, sharp gasps turning to muffled pleasure instead as Adam slides his lube-slick finger in, and then another, and another. Adam watches the obscene slide of his hand, rapt, and the last of his fear melts away. Vaguely, he notices the smoker head back inside, and he crooks his fingers, seeking that spot.

The noise Nic makes is better than he'd imagined, pained pleasure as he rocks back on Adam's fingers, shamelessly seeking more. Adam obliges, but his own neglected cock needs more, so much more. He pulls his hand free, and Nic whines, even as Adam takes the condom from him. Adam shushes him again, then rips the packet open with his teeth, and spits part of it aside.

Carefully, he slides it on, the mere touch a teasing torture, and slicks himself with lube. Patience sounds like agony, and another obnoxious hum from his cell has him thrusting _in_ , and it's too much at once, too fucking much, and he has to stop and breathe, senses overloaded by tight, tight heat.

This time, Nic is the one concerned, asking, "You okay?" Somehow, Adam forces out a reply, and he pulls back, and pushes deep again. Each stroke hits him bright and hard, each thrust another shock, another jolt. The lube and condom packet fall from his hands, forgotten, and he grips Nic's hips so tight it makes his fingers ache, but even that small pain doesn't matter, not with sweet, delicious friction, skin against skin, moan against moan, heat against fucking dirty, precious heat. His thrusts are erratic, fueled by Nic's pleas, fueled by the mind-stealing _need_ , and he can't find a rhythm, doesn't want to, because that means stopping, means thinking, means slowing or speeding up, and, god, he just wants more. His thoughts blur together faster than he can think them, lost before he thinks to capture them, but he understands when Nic says, "Hand. _Please_."

Adam pries a hand from Nic's hip and gets it around Nic's cock. He can hardly think of what to do, can barely slide his hand along Nic's length, can barely stroke, but he does, and while the sound of Nic's shout and the feel of him clenching around him as he comes doesn't push him over the edge, the shattered sound of his own name does, undoing him completely.

The afterglow is short-lived. His legs ache, thighs burning, and his feet hurt like a bitch, but that barely drags him from the haze. The sound of his phone buzzing yet again, this time without stopping, however, does. Nic makes a sound of protest as Adam urges him upright and steps back, pulling himself free. "I have to go, I think," he says, his voice unfamiliar to his ears. He staggers back, stumbling, and Nic catches his arm. "Thanks," Adam says, and lets Nic hold him steady as he pulls off the condom and knots the end, then as he pulls up his pants and fastens them quickly. "I really have to answer this," he says, and fishes the phone from his pocket. "Paranoid assistant. God, he's gonna _kill_ me."

Adam answers, and gets an earful of irate assistant as soon as he assures him he's fine, just out getting spectacularly laid. Perhaps he shouldn't have put it like that, but it makes Nic chuckle, and Adam grins. It's worth it.

Finally, when he assures John that yes, he _is_ fine, don't have a heart attack over me, _please_ , he hangs up the phone, and Nic is behind him, wrapping him in his arms. "That was awesome," Nic says, and kisses him behind the ear. "Think I can convince the producer to give you a recurring part?"

"Not a chance," Adam says, laughing, and he turns and pushes Nic against the wall, and kisses him fiercely, sweetly. A parting gift, and they both know it. "But if you're ever in Hollywood again..." He trails off, letting the offer hang in the air, and Nic smiles.

"I'll have my people call your people."


End file.
